When In Doubt, Grow It Out
by Dingbat142001
Summary: Oneshot. "I'm thinking of growing out my beard." Pepper isn’t all that enthusiastic about the idea. Fluff, possibly the smallest amount of crack. Movieverse.


**Title: When In Doubt, Grow It Out**

**Rating:** FRK  
**Disclaimer:** I don't own anything. Just the idea.  
**Spoilers:** The movie, I guess.  
**Summary: **Oneshot. "I'm thinking of growing out my beard." Pepper isn't all that enthusiastic about the idea. Fluff, possibly the smallest amount of crack. Movieverse.

* * *

"I'm thinking of growing out my beard."

That sentence alone should have been enough to bring her eyes up from the weekly schedule she was arranging, and then rearranging, but really, it wasn't anything new. When he was first developing the Jericho, though the idea, design, and schematics for that particular brainchild was easily brought forth from the mind of her mastermind boss, the assembly of the physical body itself was anything but. He had locked himself in the workshop for two weeks straight – "No meetings, no visitors, nothing until I figure this out, Ms. Potts"-, and once emerging satisfied and smug with his latest masterpiece, he himself looked anything but masterful, covered in grease, sweat, God knows what, and hair…lots of it.

But even with this unusual declaration, she still didn't pay much attention. Not looking up from her laptop, Pepper briefly acknowledged him with a vague "Of course, Mr. Stark", before clicking and dragging the file of useless information into her minds own personal Recycle Bin.

She really should have paid attention.

* * *

A week later she's standing in the back of conference room surrounded by 13 immaculately primped and properly dressed men and woman of the board when he, like he promised – albeit five minutes late -, walks in. The shoes are shinned, the suit is pressed, the tie is snug, though comfortable, at his throat, his hair is neatly combed and a tad slicked back, and…

_Oh dear God…_

Clutching her Stylus to her chest as tightly as she can in an extreme effort not to run up to him and drag him to the nearest bathroom, she cringes and eyes the hair adorning his chin and jaw.

Instead of the a neatly trimmed goatee with the upward flares at the sides, and the broad hourglass like shape below his lip, there's a heavier growth of overgrown stubble around what used to be the cleanly shaven regions, that crawls across his jaw, and around his mouth to meet up with a thicker than usual moustache.

_Uuuugh!_

For two hours, she plays the professional PA that she is; writing down bits of information here and there, handing him folders and printouts whenever indicated, smiling and saying her 'pleases' and 'thank yous' at any time the need for such pleasantries comes up, but for all her skill in ignoring any inadequacy – which have diminished substantially since Iron Man, she is proud to note - of one Billionaire boss of hers, she _can not_ shake the extra scruff growing where scruff has not been before, or should ever be again.

It's…everywhere!

Though, she doesn't exactly have the right to complain. It's neat, she'll give him that. And it's the same length. And symmetrical. And it doesn't have any vulgar pictograms or words shaved into it. And while she does dress him, feed him, occasionally shower him on those completely sloshed occurrences - okay, once -, and in general run his life, she can't outright tell him how, or when, to shave.

So she keeps her mouth shut.

* * *

Two weeks since the 'hair raising' announcement, or 'Operation Eagle's Nest' or whatever other name Rhodey spent 4 agonizing pun-full hours thinking up, the layer of stubble had double in size, and like all hair does when grown out, looked bigger, thicker and darker.

And apparently, nobody noticed.

Or is it nobody cared?

Everyone inferior was still scared of him (he was trying really hard to change that image, however much he enjoyed a certain power with it), everyone equal (but let's face it, _no one_ is equal to Tony Stark) still respected him, or hated him (whatever have you), all the woman still gravitated towards him like bees to honey, all running a horrendously fake nail across his jaw, to which he would respectfully decline and look at her – she would quickly glance elsewhere - , but no one even gave him a second look.

Wasn't it obvious?!

But really, why did she care?

His face, his beard, his image; it wasn't like any of this extra hair affect her in any way. It didn't make her job any more difficult, it didn't increase her already swamped task list, except for concurring with his observation that "Yes, Tony, it is even on both sides", nor did it make her particularly physically uncomfortable to see such foreign hair.

She just hated it!

* * *

Making little notes here and there behind the stage, she watches the screen in front of her as he, on the opposite side of the wall, was making yet another late night talk show appearance. He always was popular on the late night scene, but now with Iron Man, everyone wants a piece of him. And she, the dutiful assistant, is always there to support.

It's what she does.

He's talking about Iron Man, which he personally guarantees will help to rid the world of it's own scourge, - of course, she thinks it will just kill him, instead - when he casually brings the fingers of his right hand up to his jaw and fiddles with the hair there as the interviewer makes some sort of comment about…whatever it was. She wasn't paying attention.

The God awful growth was distracting her.

Four weeks and he still hasn't shaved. One month and he's more hairier than she's ever seen him before.

'_For Pete's sake',_ she thought, _'he looks like he's been stuck in a cave.'_

Before even realizing it, her eyes went wide and she bit back a whimper.

He once _was_ stuck in a cave.

Almost as immediately as the thought came forth, she pushes it back into its dark, deep, locked and sealed corner of her mind. It was an unspoken rule her and Tony developed the second he returned. _Don't talk about it, don't think about it._

Swallowing the lump in her throat, she turns her attention back to the screen before her.

He is still playing with the God forsaken thing, pulling small tuffs between his thumb and forefinger like he's taken to doing while thinking and nodding at whatever he was talking about with the interviewer across from him.

Crinkling her nose, Pepper rubs her temples with her free hand.

She's getting a headache.

* * *

There are quite a few people who can grow a full beard and make it work with them.

Obadiah - God bless his traitorous soul - had had one for all the years that she'd known him. Even old photographs, beside a 21 year old Tony, showcased Stane's then deep brown facial whiskers. And though a full beard didn't exactly make him good looking – to her no, others yes – it made him charming. It suited him.

Billy Gibbons and Dusty Hill both sported their bristles for years, having probably never shaved for their 5 decade plus lives. With the exception of Frank Beard, ironically enough, ZZ Top were just as known for their signature inverted locks, as for their spinning guitars and memorable riffs. No, they weren't what Pepper would consider easy on the eyes either, but it gave them the rough-edged, time tested and true appeal they wanted. It made them who they were.

That Gandalf fellow…alright, so he's a fictional character, but his grey, then white covered chin and jaw made him very much the old, wise, philosophical Wizard that he was. No, Sir Ian Mckellan, didn't have one, and for which she was thankful because he looked more the English gentleman he was, without it, but Gandalf, it just work with him. And what aged Wizard do you know doesn't have a long, flowing beard? …Ok, so she didn't know many Wizards either, other than that time her nerdy boss made her sit and watch 'the brilliance that was J. R Tolkien', end quote, but the fact still remained. Powerful Wizard equaled beard.

…and …

For the life of her, why couldn't she remember any more?!!

Uh…

Santa?

Ok, there are _very few people_ who can make a full beard work.

And Tony Stark is _not_ one of them.

* * *

A week after _its_ 30th day of existence –yes, she was counting – Pepper leafs her way through the mockup ads before her. _Scientific America _has done a lengthy article on the Stark tycoon, and, as always with any official documents relating to Tony, submits the final draft to her for authorization. Tony, or more specifically an Iron Man mask, is the intended cover, accompanied by 10 pages of the man, and a small amount (Tony likes to keep as much of Iron Man a mystery as possible) of the machine.

Scanning the preview, she circles things she wants changed, and scratches out things she wants left out, writing alterations or corrections in the margins and scrutinizing the write-up to its finest detail.

Once complete, she pulls out the manila folder holding the photography samples. It was also her job to approve the photos taken. Of course, Tony would also have say in what pictures were used, but more times than not, he trusts her judgment and goes with whatever she thought works best. Though, with Iron Man, things were different this time.

Tony Stark is a good looking man…and if Pepper is willing to be honest with herself, she might feel inclined to up _'good looking'_ to _'damn fine'_, but fortunately for her conscious, that horrendous beard still adorns his features, and makes it quite a lot easier to lie to herself.

…Ok, yes, he is still working that tall, dark, handsome look that has many a woman making fools of themselves, and his aura still says to bask in his (gradually humbling, to a certain extent) glory, and maybe for some woman, the extra scruff is like a louder roar, or more colourful plumage in the animal kingdom.

But not for Pepper.

Eyeing the proofs, she dissects every centimetre of the semi-gloss prints. Too dark, too far away, perfect, not enough tie, good angle, unflattering pose, dashing suit, he looks drunk, wrong colour…she does it all, scrunching her eyes up whenever she has to look at that beard.

She wants to gouge her eyes out.

Maybe she can get an old portrait of Tony and have the editors Photoshop his beard back into the goatee?

* * *

For a month and a half (49 long, arduous, hairy days) he lets the thing grow.

Finally, she can't stand it any longer.

"Get rid of it!" she says, making her way across the workshop to stand and glare at his profile as he bends over a table working on this, that, or the other thing, somehow relating to the suit.

"Get rid of what?" He doesn't look up, just keeps soldering.

"That…_thing_!" She waves a hand frantically in his direction, 'cause she can't really call it a beard; just a mass of hair encroaching on what used to be his contoured, aristocratic, somewhat arrogant jaw.

"What _thing_, Ms. Potts?" He clearly knows what she's talking about; both the way he says it, and the slight smirk, prove that.

"That…ugh! You know what I'm talking about, Tony." She has one hand on her hip, the other up to her temples.

Finally, he stands; removing his safety goggles for some reason he bothered to wear this time – normally he doesn't- and wiping his hands on his shirt. Turning to look at her, he brings a hand up to, again, fiddle with the hair on his jaw.

"Why?" he looks nonplussed, but he's got a little smile that says he wants to hear whatever her reasons are.

"Because…" she's not about to tell him he looked more jumpable before. That would both make it incredibly awkward for her, and please him to no end. She'd never hear the end of it. "Just, because."

At that he chuckles a little, "_Because_ isn't an answer, Ms. Potts."

Pinching the bridge of her nose, she moves to stand across from him, and leans against one of the workshop tables. She sighs, "Just get rid of it Tony, _please_."

He seems to notice she's a little bit more distressed than usual about something so small and seemingly insignificant, so he leans against his own table and tones the smirk down to a small, genuine grin.

"Not until you tell me why?"

Pepper is fed up and briskly crosses her arms "Tell me why you all of a sudden wanted to grow it in the first place?" _Yeah, she's totally stalling now._

At this he looks a little sheepish, before covering it up with smugness, "I asked first, Pep."

Unfortunately, Pepper saw the brief moment of weakness.

"Nuh uh," she uncrosses her arms and points an accusing finger at him. "You're growing it on purpose. I know you are. I saw that look. Like you got your hand caught in the cookie jar."

Cocking his head to the side, he pulls at the hair "Is that a euphemism for something? If so, I'm all for it."

"Tony," she's not in the mood today "why did you grow it?"

"Why is it bothering you?" He seems more defensive then he should be. Another clue he's hiding something.

"Because," Pepper relents, knowing they won't get anywhere batting this thing back and forth. "I don't like it."

He looks genuinely surprised at this. "Really? I…" now he looks confused "thought beards were your thing…."

Now it's her turn to be confused. "What?" She's been around Tony Stark long enough to expect the unexpected…but that was _completely _unexpected. "Why would you think that?"

Again, he looks sheepishly down at the grease on his hands, before attempting to flippantly wave it off and turns around to whatever it is he was working on. "No reason, Ms. Potts," he says good-naturedly, as if talking about the difference between pink or salmon pigments.

Staring at his back, her forehead crinkles as she struggles – normally she's pretty good at understanding Starkanese- to follow his line of thought.

"_I thought beards were your thing…."_

A) Why would he think that and b) what the hell does it matter if she has a _'thing'_ for beards or not? For the record, she doesn't…

Wait…

"_I thought beards were your thing…." _That is to mean he _thought_ she likes beards. As to imply _he_ thought _she_ would _like him_ in a beard.

The implication alone is enough to make her blush. He wasn't meaning…No, couldn't possibly…How outlandish that he might…The chances of that are….Well, they've always flirted but…And he did say what he said before the Iron Man conference…. But he's him…And she's her…And they're them… And…

_Oh dear._

That was one area she had been avoiding thinking about rather a lot lately; ever since he made that comment about that hypothetical proud, but worried, girlfriend that he might have, and how he thought about a particular event not so long ago involving a particular blue dress, and a particular empty balcony…Like she said, not that she'd been thinking about it…

It was also one area she knew she should steer clear of. He'd been a Saint ever since Afghanistan – or as much a Saint as Tony Stark can be – and as tempting as it was to jump headfirst in whatever Tony was proposing, she knew she couldn't risk it. Nothing good ever came from thinking such things, even if her stomach enjoyed the rollercoaster ride it was on, thoroughly.

Shaking her head to clear her mind, she thinks of the topic at hand.

"_I thought beards were your thing…."_

Where could he possibly have gotten that?

She's about to ask until she thinks back to the week before he made the announcement, hoping to find the trigger.

And she thinks she might have found it.

Roger Kramer, CEO of _Y2K?_ (standing for brothers R Kramer & D Kramer); a minor insurance company hoping to hit it big with Stark Industries recession layoffs. He also happened to have wandering hands, bourdon on his breath, and you guessed it, a full greying beard.

What Tony doesn't know is that she spent most of the night's festivities dancing (merrily on the outside, _very_ uncomfortable on the inside) in Mr. Kramer's tightly wound, too-low-on-her-backside arms assuring him, in as polite of terms as she could muster (because Tony would surely spout some expletives at the accusation), that Stark Industries will not be aiding _Y2K?'s_ growth spurt. As of Afghanistan, Stark Industries _does not_ layoff the working people. And if it did, it was with a severance package so large even CEO Stark himself would happily accept it.

She definitely took one for the team.

But that wasn't the issue.

She had spent much of the night with an average looking middle-aged man, and all Tony could assume was that she was somehow _attracted_ to Mr. Kramer's good-from-far-far-from-good self because of his beard?

Surely that wasn't it…

For a genius, he wasn't all that smart.

Reassuring Tony (on the fact that she liked facial hair, but not Mr. Kramer's, no less) wasn't one of her strong suits…actually, she never had to do it before, but Tony was a man, and they did take blows to the ego hard. Even an ego as large as his.

"Tony," she says softly, in a voice that, for some reason or another, always made him grin and watch her with apt rapture. " I…if…" She wasn't really sure what to say…

"What can I do to make you shave?"

Of course, Tony Stark couldn't help it. His shoulders shake a little as he attempts to stifle a laugh.

Pepper rolls her eyes but smiles, nonetheless. Trust Tony to take that pervertedly.

At least it seems to break the awkward silence they have been in.

He turns around, a cocky grin on his lips when he opens his mouth to reply. Quickly, she cuts him off.

"Let me rephrase that." She smiles when he crosses his arms and looks expectantly at her, still with a goofy grin on his face. Oh, the sacrifices she makes for him. "If I clear your entire schedule for the next two days, will you consider if enough of a reward to shave?"

"Ms. Potts," he sounds a tad scandalized, "are you attempting to bribe me?"

Giving him a level stare, she states matter-of-factly, "Yes. Is it working?"

"Mmhm, you play dirty, Pepper," he says as he twists the hair on his chin gently.

"I learn from the best," she might be grinning as goofily as he is.

"Mmm, that you do."

Twisting her hands together, Pepper raises her eyebrows eagerly, "So, shave?"

He cocks his head as if to think about it for a moment, before stretching his torso in an all too tantalizing manner. "Since you asked so nicely…" he says and leads her out of the workshop.

* * *

Standing at the base of the stairs leading up to his bedroom and bath, Pepper bounces anxiously on her toes.

She's excited. What really is no big deal to everyone else is a huge deal to her. Tony's shaving. She had heard the razor, and almost squealed. That was 15 minutes ago, and although she heard the shower too, she's getting impatient.

She's almost tempted to check on him, when she hears the door open and his bare feet pad down the stairs. Since she cancelled the rest of today's activities, along with tomorrow's and the day after, he's dressed himself in random work clothes, but really, who cares what he's wearing. It's the face she wants to see.

Coming down the stairs, he stands in front of her, and she bites her lip in a failed attempt to stop the glowing smile she knows is there. He might look smug, but she can't say she notices; she's too busy concentrating on the bare skin and the intricate design of hair just below his mouth.

She really, terribly can't help it. Raising her hands, she cups his jaw and runs her fingertips against the smooth, hairless skin. Because she's focused on his mouth area, she clearly sees him smile that smile she's come to know is saved solely for her.

She's in his personal space, - a space that she studiously avoids - but if truth be told, she really doesn't care.

"Much better," she does all but sigh. She even might look a little dazed.

"You think?" he asks truly concerned for her opinion.

"Yes, I…" honesty is always the best policy. _Why not?_ "I find you much more attractive like this." If she's blushing, Tony doesn't say anything.

"Do you?" for some reason her approval really does matter to him.

"Yes," she avoids looking at his eyes, and runs her fingers across his jaw line. Her sense of intimacy must have gone down the drain along with the hair. "Promise me you'll never grow it out again."

"Are you sure?" he asks with a smirk "I'm kinda liking how you can't keep your hands off me right now."

Moving her hands from his face, she drags them down his neck and shoulders for a brief moment before dropping them completely. Straightening her skirt, she steps back from him and shakes the feathers from her head.

"Will that be all, Mr. Stark?"

"That will be all, Ms. Potts."

Both turning, she to her laptop on the coffee table, and him to the workshop steps, they proceed as if the events of the past few minutes were just as any other day. Sitting at the couch, she places the laptop in its namesake position, before feeling eyes on her. Looking up, she sees him smiling that smile at her at the top of the stairwell, and feels herself blush, just a tad.

"What?"

"You're making me go to that thing on Friday, right?"

Scanning her mind's own daily planner, Pepper zeros in on whatever it was she had him scheduled for on Friday.

"The 21st Annual International Latin Night Gala; yes, you will be going. We already discussed this."

Tony looks slightly affronted at her, "I wasn't going to complain; just merely inquiring as to if you were attending?"

Pepper gaps a bit then gives him a small smile remembering the last time they danced, and then remember the dance with Roger Kramer.

"I'm not of Latin descent."

Tony shrugs, "So? I'm not Irish, but I do my fair share of celebrating on St. Patty's Day."

Pepper mentally rolls her eyes and almost brings up that he _celebrates_ almost every event on the calendar.

"And besides, you went last year-"

"Only on your behalf," she interjects.

"My point is, you should go."

Pepper eyes him suspiciously for a brief moment, already knowing what he's after. Tony wants a dance.

"We'll see," she neither confirms, nor denies.

"_We'll see'_; which means…?" he looks hopeful.

"Which means, we will see, Tony." She notices that she sounds willing, as she returns her attention back to the laptop, and the idea of another dance with him is both thrilling and dangerous. But as with so many things pertaining to Tony Stark, she can't help it.

He looks appeased for the moment, then runs his right hand against the smooth skin of his newly-shaven jaw.

"You know, Ms. Potts, I do a mean salsa."

Pepper looks up from her laptop just in time to see his head disappear down the stairs. Smiling to herself, she lets the image roll around in her head just long enough to feel the blush rise on her cheeks.

"We'll see…"

* * *

**_Author's Note:_** What was I saying about the crack? :P Sorry, but I got watching the Stanley Cup Playoffs (Pens FTW, Jordan Staal *swoon*), and saw all the playoff beards, and decided to write a fic. That last bit about the Latin Gala is hopefully going to be a later fic. Gotta finish a few I have on the go first.


End file.
